


Vivid Red

by TriadicUniverse



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AKA my fave AU, Bondage, F/M, Implied and unrequited?? The Condesce/The Signless, Threshecutioner Karkat, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4479863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriadicUniverse/pseuds/TriadicUniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Ancestral Anthology 2015.  Her Imperious Condescension finds a new plaything that brings back old memories, both of which affect her more than she could have ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vivid Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cunningAesthete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunningAesthete/gifts).



Nubby horns. Round eyes. A childish face that betrayed defiance and terror simultaneously. Her Imperious Condescension couldn’t begin to imagine how the loud-mouthed mutant had been able to reproduce, and yet somehow his offspring was chained and kneeling before her throne. She had seen some serious shit over the sweeps, but this was definitely high on the list. As she lounged, tapping her claws against her trident and pondering however the fuck this could have occurred, the wiry purpleblood holding a spear to the mutant’s throat seemed to grow more and more antsy.

“Your Majesty, if it pleases you, I may dispose of him quickly,” he said finally, tearing her away from her considerations. She glowered at her subordinate and the criminal in turn. The mini-preacher was trembling visibly, his face bright-red and beading with sweat. His eyebrows were creased together, and the way his mouth was screwed shut resembled a pufferfish more than anything else. He was the least dignified or threatening troll she had ever seen, and yet he held his head up high and looked as if he planned to do so until the moment he passed out from terror. One thing was for sure, she didn’t want to kill him right away.

With a dismissive wave of her hand, the Empress gave her decision. “Nah, leave him here. I’ll deal with ‘im.”

The kid looked as if he had just shat his pants. The threshecutioners nodded solemnly and backed out of the throne room. Most of them were surely unhappy at being denied such a unique kill, but it wasn’t like the Queen had to give a fuck about that. She rested her chin in one hand and waited until the throne room was empty. After a few short seconds, the doors slammed shut.

Nubby made a sound as if he was about to speak. The Condesce fixed her eyes on him, lifting a brow as she waited in icy silence. He swallowed hard, his face flushed, but managed to look her dead in the eye as she spoke. “I know that trash like myself clearly deserves to be murdered in all kinds of gruesome ways and hung from a palace spire, and I don’t actually have any right to ask favors of a sewer rat, much less an Empress, but if it’s not inconvenient for you and you happen to be having a good night, maybe you’d consider killing me quickly?”

He was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. The Queen watched impassively, her teeth needling at her lower lip. Eventually, the tumultuous cascade of her thoughts came to a unanimous conclusion; ‘fuck it.’

“You a virgin, babycakes?” she asked, and watched the descendant of the Sufferer gape like a fish out of water.

Over the next few nights, the Condesce learned a few things. One; Karkat Vantas had been virgin, and when the Empress proceeded to change that he finally did pass right the fuck out. When he came around, she had him cradled in her lap (still chained, because it was a great look for him), while the guards returned to the throne room.

Two; he was an absolute angel around her, but if anyone else so much as looked at him he would unleash righteous fury the likes of which had not been seen since the time of his ancestor. This should have upset her, but the sight of her tiny new pet facing off against a troll three times his size was simply too precious.

The third came when a troll in the palace took offense to the mutant’s temper (achingly familiar, and achingly inevitable), and that was that Karkat Vantas backed up his harsh words with a surprising amount of martial prowess. The Empress paid more attention that night when she undressed him and yes, that was a fair amount of muscle beneath the wiggler fat. She smiled, called him her little Spitfire, and he chirped like a grub when she kissed every inch of his skin.

When he let slip his old dreams of becoming a threshecutioner, she could not have been happier. Within hours she had him in uniform, with a brand new sickle and his blood color emblazoned boldly across his chest. The unnatural red contrasted beautiful with the fuchsia and gold glittering from the collar around his throat. He knelt before her throne and all the aristocrats in her court and took the vows of a threshecutioner. Then he boldly looked up, meeting her eyes with his; round and gray with a thin ring of bright scarlet. His lip was quivering, and pale tears pricked at the corners of his eyes (he was so happy to serve her, so glad to have impressed her. It was his eagerness that surprised her for the first time in eons).

Karkat Vantas sobbed happily all through that day, whimpering every time the Empress pressed her lips to his.

She gave him jewelry. She gave him the best orgasms of his short life; she gave him a spaceship. With every gift his eyes would light up, even as he crossed his arms and pursed his lips and pretended he was a big, tough threshecutioner that didn’t need to be coddled by his Queen (an old voice spoke of a world where this was normal, this was encouraged. Maybe it wasn’t nonsense after all). Maybe he didn’t, but that would never stop her, especially with the way he squeaked every time she danced her fingers up his belly. She would not give him up, not for all the treasures she had seen in all her long life.

She loved him so much—her little Spitfire, her vicious warrior, her firebrand—sometimes it wiped the memory of the preacher (screaming, bleeding, suffering) from her mind.

After sweeps passed, he still didn’t know why she liked him so much with his arms bound above his head, and she didn’t tell him why (there was no need to bring up bad blood). All Karkat had to know was that when he was strung up in her chambers, dressed only in leggings that did nothing to conceal the curve of his bulge, Her Imperious Condescension could not be happier (he was so beautiful, vulnerable and stretched out on display). He had been unnerved at first, but he had grown to enjoy the predatory sweep of her gaze; it let him know how badly she wanted him. After all, she often told him how there was no troll quite like him (the only troll that might match him was long dead).

But oh, there was no need to mourn, not with such a gorgeous little thing bound before her like he was. The Condesce was content for a while just to watch him. He struggled and writhed (he did not want to escape, but she liked to see him move), wiry muscles straining under soft curves. His lips, swollen and dark, parted around his beautiful sounds (were all mutants so vocal? She hoped so). The ancient queen allowed herself a childish giggle as she trailed her hands up the soft flesh of his torso, squeezing and groping all the way up to his chest (she had wanted to do this so long ago—people had been watching, but now they were alone, there was no one to see). Karkat heaved with a full body shudder as she teased the sensitive nubs peaking out over his ridiculous leggings (even he loathed them, but he would wear them for her). His back arched and his eyelids drooped. He watched her closely (his eyes were ringed with the brightest crimson she had ever seen, burning like the daytime sun over the ocean).

When he was distracted, her hand slipped down to cup his bulge. Before she knew it he was squirming again, his thighs quivering and nook dripping through his clothes (she wanted to see how long she could leave him here, wear him down until he begged). She could feel his bulge try to wrap around her wrist, even through the thin fabric, and was endlessly pleased.

She smiled for him, painted lips stretched over teeth like razors. The tips of her claws pricked harmlessly against Karkat’s groin, making him whimper like a choice piece of prey. That comparison was surprisingly apt, and she licked her lips before she could stop herself (he would be delicious, either way). Her voice was breathless, a wanting tone that only he heard, as she spoke. “What do we spray, babycakes?” she teased.

His response tumbled from his lips in a barely coherent tangle of words. “Please! Please oh god undress me, fuck me, please!”

He was everything she could have hoped for. A subsonic keen emitted from her throat, one that she knew he would feel. Once again, she had underestimated just how much messing with him would hurt her as well. Damn pitiful, warmblooded, precious playthings, making her feel powerful emotions that ill-fitted an Empress. Anger was encouraged. Indignation was expected. Pride and condescension were par for the course. Heart-wrenching pity? That was unacceptable.

She cupped his cheeks and kissed him hard. He truly was like a firebrand against her, hotblooded and strange, setting off sparks in her belly. Her teeth shredded his lower lip, but that did not stop him from kissing back. Helpless sounds escaped his mouth, just to be passed into hers. Her arms which could bend iron wrapped around him as tightly as she dared (breaking him would break her as well). She could feel his body, pliant and soft, shuddering against hers. His legs managed to wrap around her thigh and he began to hump needily, just like the horny and in love adolescent he was. She didn’t want to admit that she felt the same way.

Scarlet stained her lips as she pulled away. 

(Her eyes followed every curve as he struggled, pleaded, wanting to be with the one he loved so desperately. Even now he was stubborn, but she knew that he would break down before long.)

(Hanging by his arms, his clothes shredded, the suffering mutant was so young, so fragile and vulnerable before the eyes of his Queen. Rose-tinted tears spilled from his eyes. Even now he tried to talk, but his words were a jumbled mess of curses and pleas as he neared his finish.)

Karkat Vantas shrieked as the old Empress drove into him, claiming him in every way she wanted to. Her precious plaything, her crowning jewel. 

(He screamed in his final moments, vivid red staining the ground.)

The Threshecutioner Spitfire lay, sated and dazed, in the arms of his Queen. His head rested against her chest, listening to the ancient beat of her heart. He reached out and took one of her hands in his; she was so much larger than him, with her fingers ringed with gold and tipped with claws like razors. Her other hand stroked through his hair and around the base of his horns.

He looked up and into her eyes, cold fuchsia that he had come to know so well. She was dangerous and beautiful, like the ocean raging in a storm, and just as ancient. For once, she looked tired. “What is it, angelfish?” she said, uncharacteristically subdued.

Karkat swallowed, squeezed her hand, and said, “I love you.”

Her fins pinned back, and her expression was unreadable, even as her lips curved into a smile. As she leaned down to kiss his forehead, she did not say another word.


End file.
